


Scars

by kesomon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Innuendo, Lightning Scars, M/M, POV First Person, Scars, Snark, coldflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5368298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/pseuds/kesomon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They say the first scar you ever receive will determine your destiny.</i>
</p>
<p>In which a safehouse is shared, Barry is flustered, Len draws a few parallels, and enemies-turned-allies find common ground in circumstance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> From a note I saw on Tumblr suggesting Barry has lightning scars. 
> 
> I love the idea of supers having the scars of their births. Oliver's first scar was an arrow, my headcanon says Danny Phantom's gloves hide electrical burns in ghost form. And being a Coldflash junkie, I had to make it about Len.
> 
> Unbeta'd, let me know what you think!

They say the first scar you ever receive will determine your destiny.

If it’s true, then Len counts his blessings; for all the abuse his father inflicted, Lewis Snart had been careful to never do damage that wouldn't heal without a trace. No small wonder that it took so long for Lewis to be caught. It was a lesson for Leonard: that evidence was the enemy of a criminal, that caution and care in every task was a ticket to freedom. Len's bruises heal to pale skin, smooth and unmarked, and his heart is made cold. He watches, he waits, he plans. His destiny isn’t set in stone, yet.

Lisa isn’t as fortunate; a broken bottle marrs her perfect skin. Leonard doesn’t wait to find out what that could mean for her destiny; she is his sister, and there is nothing more precious to him. Len acts. A mountain of evidence meticulously gathered in secret brings the hammer down, and the game is over for their father.

Len is satisfied. Neither he, nor his sister, will suffer a destiny forged in pain and fear.

Instead, Leonard’s destiny is forged in ice.

The job requires Freon gas. It's less of a hassle to obtain than nitrogen, and slightly less dangerous. He means to freeze the workings of a Carbondale safe - circa 1910, Titanic steel; a thing of beauty, Len almost hates to destroy it, but the contents will be well worth it.

Len learns another lesson that night: that relying on others can be weakness in this work. The canisters are mishandled by the amateurs he’s working with, and instead of the safe it’s Len who winds up cracked. It's a mistake Len won't soon forget, as Lisa tends the burns that creep up his right arm. Raw, red flesh heals in whorls of white, frost flowers puckering his skin. It takes months of therapy to regain use of his hand. His first act once healed is to put a bullet in the leg of the imbecile who caused it.

Mick Rory is marked in fire just as Len is marked by ice. The pyro embraces his scars like a badge of honor. To Mick, fire is reverence, wild and untamable power. Len finds they compliment each-other, like the proverbial elements that claim them. He can cool Mick's temper, nurture the flame burning in his friend to be of benefit to them and not of harm. In turn, Mick thaws a little of Len's carefully frozen boundaries. Len discovers a side of himself he never really knew existed, full of smirks, and puns. He embraces the ice just as Mick does the flame. Their fates are sealed by that kid, Cisco Ramon; he seems to have a knack for telling destiny. Captain Cold and Heatwave take to their new monikers with relish.

Barry Allen, Len learns, was also touched by something.

The circumstances of how and why aren't important. What is important is this: it is late. Captain Cold and the Flash are aligned, however temporarily, in their goals, and their goal is currently to rest. The safehouse is small, and cramped, and not fit for the tension that comes with two arch-rivals sharing space to be comfortable.

"Look," the Flash says shortly, still wrapped head to toe in crimson leather-poly-whatever it is, "I don't see why you can't turn your back for two seconds."

"Don't tell me you're _shy_ , Scarlet," Len drawls, thoroughly enjoying the glare Allen shoots his way, the way the speedster flushes a flustered red creeping up from beneath his suit. "We're both adults, aren't we? It's not like you have anything to hide I haven't already seen." And oh, the suggestion in that statement draws the flush further up the kid's neck. Len smirks. It's really too easy to rile him.

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say, Cold. I can't help but notice you haven't bothered to change either." The kid folds his arms. Len raises an eyebrow, lifts his arms to tuck behind his head, adjusting his casual sprawl across the narrow bed.

"Technically, I don't have to change. I'm really quite comfortable." It's true; the parka's ruff is nestled cozy against his throat, boots shedding snowmelt and drying mud off the end of the bed. Underneath, he's got his thermals, and his coat has fallen open, the cold gun just visible in its holster. He knows the picture he presents, stretched out like a panther. Barry makes an unintelligible noise in his throat and looks away, jaw set and blush definitely creeping up his entire face. _Interesting_. Len smirks, and continues, " _you_ , on the other hand, can't possibly sleep in that leather fetish getup, I'm sure."

It never fails to amuse Len to watch the Flash splutter, made utterly mute by innuendo.

Perhaps an avenue to be explored later. Right now, Len is exhausted, and sore. His hand aches from the cold, and he just wants to sleep.

"Fine." Len rises from the bed so abruptly the Flash flinches back as if expecting a strike. Leonard levels an unimpressed look, tugging off his coat. Then his holster, laying the gun atop the parka with care. He sits on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots, clumsy in his gloves, and pauses. Barry is still watching him, a little wide-eyed, and hasn't moved a muscle. "Well? Are you just going to stand there gawking or what?"

His sharp tone snaps the speedster out of it; with a frown and a blur of yellow sparks, the costume is gone, and Barry has located a pair of sweatpants somewhere in the meager offerings this safehouse could provide. He pauses to fold the Flash costume with just as much care as Len gave his gun, moving slower - normal speed - with weariness, before picking up a shirt to cover his upper half.

Len has harmed the Flash enough in their past battles to know the limits of his healing factor. He's seen the kid bounce back from shots and stabs and frostbite without a single scar, given time. Which is why Len pauses in toeing off his boots to look closer.

Across Barry's skin, a spiderweb of lines, faint white scars spreading from his neck down his back in fine, jagged angles. They're almost as intricate as the frost damage on Len's arm. It’s also almost frighteningly familiar to the marks of a belt, or some other fine whip instrument.

Len doesn't realise he's reached out until Allen flinches under his touch, turns abruptly to face Len with mild alarm, clutching the shirt defensively to his chest. "What are you doing?"

Len pauses; he doesn't have an answer. Shrugs, tugging his gloves off one finger at a time, giving the kid his space. "Just curious. I thought you healed from anything, kid."

Barry frowns as he tugs the shirt on, hiding the latticework of damage. "It's from before."

_That_ gives Len reason to tense, to halt his movements to stare at the speedster. It didn’t escape Len that there were parallels across their lives - their fathers, their sisters, their chosen paths in life - yet Len found he shuddered to think the Flash had suffered the same abuse as a child that Len- "Before...?"

Allen must read something in the tone of Len's voice, for he stops and looks at Len for a moment. Then his expression clears in epiphany and he shakes his head, reassuring. “No, nothing like that.”

The tension leaves Len’s shoulders infinitesimally; he tries not to think about why he’s relieved.

"Before the whole healing factor kicked in," the Flash explains, waving a hand vaguely in the air. "The night of the particle accelerator - um." He hesitates, clearly debating whether this information should be shared with a known criminal of Leonard Snart's infamy. Len puts on his most patient expression, knowing his opponent - _restraint_ doesn’t describe the Flash, more like naive and entirely too trusting. It doesn't take long. "I got struck by lightning that night. I didn't start rapidly regenerating cells until Star Labs stabilized my metabolism, so the scars from the lightning never healed."

The speedster suddenly laughs quietly. "A friend of mine once said that the lightning didn't strike me, so much as it chose me. You could say I was marked for this.” He grins, then, shrugs. “Ironically, _his_ first scar came from an arrow, and look how he turned out."

It's not hard to infer Barry speaks of the Arrow. Len looks down at his hands, right cradled in left. His thumb traces the whorls of frost-nipped skin. Thinks of Mick, and the burns that brand his shoulder. Maybe the saying is true; maybe their destinies were sealed by those scars. The Flash, the Arrow, Heatwave. _Captain Cold._

Barry follows his gaze, and Len glances up to meet his eyes with a faint smirk, waggling his fingers on display. "One more thing we have in common then, kid."

That actually draws a faint smile from his rival, as Barry sinks down onto the opposite cot, tucking a knee up under his arm. "Things get a little chilly for you once, Cold?"

"Cute," Len sneers, and sprawls back on the bed, turning his back to his temporary roommate. "Leave the puns to the professionals, Scarlet, and get some sleep. And get the lights, would you?"

A snort from the kid. There's a brief burst of speed-sparks that paints the walls in light, before the room is plunged into darkness.

"Goodnight, Snart."

"What is this, the Waltons?" Len mutters, but he smiles in the dark, and sighs in exasperation. "G'night, kid."

A rustle of bedsheets, and then - "Wow, you _are_ old."

Even in the dark, Len's extra pillow finds the speedster's face with unerring accuracy, and Len falls asleep with the satisfying sound of Barry's surprised squawk in his ears.


End file.
